


Wood

by hostilecrayon



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Play, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostilecrayon/pseuds/hostilecrayon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was happening more and more frequently, and frankly, it was starting to get embarrassing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink meme and is totally just a dirty one-shot I wrote on zero sleep. XD
> 
> The prompt was: Taking care of morning wood.

**Wood**

It was happening more and more frequently, and frankly, it was starting to get embarrassing.

At first, it was just when Desmond woke up from actual sleep, which in and of itself was not all that unusual. Not that it meant he could do anything about it; not with the Animus schedule as hectic as it was, someone coming to wake him and eyes always on him in some form, whether they be real or digital – he wasn’t foolish enough to think there wasn’t surveillance covering every inch of their hideout, including the other’s rooms. He could deal with it, though, thinking unsexy thoughts and shifting things around before crawling out of his blankets.

It’s when it started happening at other, much less manageable times that he began to think it was a problem.

Averted gazes became the norm when he’d come up out of the Animus, and god forbid he zone out for any reason, Bleeding Effect or otherwise – it seemed any moment not spent actively willing it away, a tent popped up in his pants. It got to the point that the girls wouldn’t do more than give him a brief glance in some weird attempt to give him privacy.

Shaun, on the other hand, had no trouble looking at him. He took particular delight in it, that condescending smirk always ready to pass judgment on Desmond’s ‘condition’.

There was only one possible cure. Well, two, but the likelihood of him getting laid was pretty much zero. So when he woke up one hour before his usual wake up call, a dull ache in his balls and hard as a rock, he threw caution to the wind, finally, blissfully letting the palm of his hand slide over boxers to rub against his straining erection, his hand outlined clearly by the blanket covering it.

It’s then that he remembers the camera.

To Desmond’s credit, he didn’t look, just laid there for a moment, frozen stiff as he wracked his brain to remember who had the early morning shift. It had been Lucy, and then Rebecca the day before, so that meant…

It had to be Shaun’s turn. Desmond had trouble holding back a grin. _Perfect._

He pushed the blanket down slowly with one hand, revealing his other still lightly cupping himself through his boxers. He used his feet to kick the blanket the rest of the way off, making sure he was fully exposed to the surveillance camera he had yet to officially acknowledge.

He took his time, reveling in the simple feeling of pressure against his long neglected shaft. There was no need to hurry – he had an hour, and he intended to use it to the fullest extent.

And Shaun, who had been so keen on bringing attention to Desmond’s ‘condition’, could just watch as he cured himself.

Even without the skin to skin contact, Desmond could already feel his body warm in anticipation, and when the front of his boxers went from damp to flat out wet, he shucked his shirt and boxers, angling himself just right, so that when he lifted his legs, Shaun would get an unobstructed view of everything between them.

Naked and on display, Desmond finally locked eyes with the camera, spreading his feet obscenely wide. If Shaun were going to look away, now would be the time, and maybe he had, but Desmond could feel eyes on him, could feel the erratic flutter of his pulse, and he was almost sure that Shaun was still watching.

“Shaun,” he exhaled, his voice light but his lips perfectly shaping the words, “I know you can read lips.”

A self-conscious smirk played at the corners of his mouth, his hands laid gently on his stomach, his cock jutting almost straight up with how hard he was. He took a deep breath and willed himself to continue. “I know you’ve been watching me. You don’t even bother trying to hide it, you cocky son of a bitch.” Desmond chuckled, one hand snaking down towards his groin.

“You’ve been looking,” he ran his fingers up the underside of his cock so Shaun could see, his next few words coming out as more of a gasp, “at this, tented against my jeans, and judging me with that damned smirk on your face.” Desmond wrapped his hand around the base, sucking in a sharp breath at the much anticipated contact.

Desmond smiled into the camera. “Tell me, how do I measure up to your fantasies?”

His hand moved leisurely, not nearly enough to build him up, but it still pulled noises from his lips. “Do you like what you see?” The thought of Shaun watching, of him very much liking was he was seeing, cock pressed hard against the stiff fabric of his slacks made Desmond groan in a way that had nothing to do with his teasing strokes.

His bag was right next to him, and his free hand reached for it, fighting the zipper down to get at a bottle of lotion stashed away inside.

“Do you know what comes next, Shaun?” he asked, fingers fumbling to get the top open to slather them in the slick liquid. He dropped a little over the head of his cock, his other hand smearing it down the shaft, and for a second panting was the only thing he could do. He stilled his hand, remembering how to breathe, all the while watching the camera with half-lidded eyes.

Then he pushed a finger against his entrance, and the moan he let out was so loud, Shaun could probably hear it all the way at his desk.

“Fuck, Shaun,” Desmond groaned, “I bet you think about this, don’t you? You think about what it would feel like to pry me open with your fingers,” Desmond pushed one finger in to the first knuckle, lifting his hips towards the camera, “to stretch me wide enough to fit your aching cock inside me.”

He slipped another slick finger inside, spreading them open to emphasize his point, his hand resuming a leisurely pace up and down his cock. “How do we do it in your fantasies, Shaun? Face to face, like lovers? Or maybe you think about me sinking down onto your waiting cock in that chair you practically live in, thrusting into me so hard I catch air? I bet you’d like that. You’d never be able to concentrate on your work properly again without thinking about fucking me.”

Desmond pushed in and out, in and out, his fingers curled into his entrance so Shaun could see every move he made.

“Maybe you’d bend me over that desk of yours, tease me until I beg for it, than slam into me with enough force for my head to knock against those corkboards of yours.” Desmond worked a third finger inside, the fingers running along his shaft speeding up. “Or maybe,” Desmond panted, “you’re into… kinkier things.”

“Do you know what a spreader bar is, Shaun?” Desmond was trying to keep his eyes on the camera, but his head lolled to the side, his nervous system crackling with electricity just under his skin. “Fuck, fuck, Shaun.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but he was having a hard time focusing, his verbal assault having as much effect on Desmond as it was supposed to have on Shaun.

“I’m, ahh, sure there are plenty of things lying around to use as a makeshift spreader bar, keeping my legs open for you. I bet you’d suspend me from the ceiling, too, you sexy fuck.” Desmond was losing his calm, shuddering and thrusting eagerly against his fingers, but he fought to keep talking, his fingers clamping down viciously around the base of his cock, preventing his impending orgasm. “You’d torture me for hours if you could. Cock ring tight around my dick, keeping me forever on edge with no hope for release until you allow it. You’d fucking love every minute of it.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I can see you, that damn smirk on your face, pushing up your glasses, impervious to my futile squirming, taunting me in that dead sexy accent of yours. And I’d let you. Hell, I’d beg if you wanted, as long as you just fuck me already.” Desmond’s heels dug painfully into his bedding, is legs straining to hold him up, all three fingers plunging into him clear down to the last knuckle.

“Fuck, Shaun, so close.” He twisted his fingers inside of him, letting out a silent scream, the hand on his cock loosening to jerk up and down his shaft, and immediately he was coming, jet after jet until he thought he’d never stop, his whole body seizing and spasming.

He collapsed back against his bedroll, spread eagle and covered in his own come, and worked on getting air back into his lungs. He was still panting when he said, “Man, now I’m tired.” The corners of his lips tilted upwards and he lifted his head enough to look directly into the camera. “Good thing all I have to do today is lay around in the Animus, right Shaun?”

Desmond chuckled. “You, on the other hand, will have all day to think about how badly you want to fuck me, and how exactly you want to go about it. Let me know if you come to a decision.” Desmond broke into a full smile then, cocking his head to look at the clock. “Unless of course, you’ve already decided. Thirty minutes until wake up call.”

Amused, Desmond got up and walked to the camera, wiping himself with his shirt as he went. He stopped right in front of the camera, smirked and said, “Well, Shaun?” before hanging the shirt over the camera and hiding himself from view.

\---

Face flushed, cock pressed hard into the zipper of his slacks and more turned on than he’s ever been in his life, Shaun carefully edited out the segment of video, replaced it with canned footage of Desmond sleeping, and saved the original in a deeply buried file labeled ‘Tax Returns 2003’.

Briefly, he considered letting Desmond sweat it out just to see what happened, but then he shifted in his chair and he let out an involuntary moan as his cock slides against the inside of his clothing.

He checked the clock. Twenty-seven minutes.

He got up and walked towards Desmond’s room, sure of the fact that for once, the wakeup call would be late.


End file.
